


if you love me, got to know for sure

by usuallysunny



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: 5 Times, F/M, Fluff, Love Confessions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:13:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26542744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usuallysunny/pseuds/usuallysunny
Summary: Five times Chloe says I love you—and the first time Lucifer says it back.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 33
Kudos: 520





	if you love me, got to know for sure

The words lodge in her throat, the first time she tries to say them.

She’s standing on his balcony, wide eyed and teary, the three words catching on a sob. They’re framed by a plea, a desperate _please don’t go,_ even though she knows that he will. 

She thinks about letting them die there, fizzing away on her tongue. She thinks about hiding it, the way she’s always hid it, that flame that’s danced inside her from the moment they met. She’s tried to smother it, tried so hard to deny it, but it burns bright and uncontrollable now.

He’s fading away, slipping like quicksand between her fingers, and in the blink of an eye, he’ll be gone. The Prince of Darkness, Lord of Hell—back where they say he belongs, but he _doesn’t_ really. He belongs here. He belongs with her.

Chloe doesn’t know when she fell in love with Lucifer Morningstar, only that she _did,_ and it’s the most dizzying and painful and _beautiful_ thing she’s ever felt.

So she tells him.

She just closes her eyes, tells herself to be brave and pushes the words out—because she can’t just let him _leave_ without knowing. He’s spent so long trying to find his place in the world, she wants him to know that someone loves him; someone thinks he _is_ special and he _is_ enough. To her, he is perfect.

When she says it, his eyes look glassy, stunned. It’s like she’s reached into his chest and quite literally stolen the breath from his lungs. It looks like it hurts to breathe. He doesn’t say it back but it doesn’t really matter, because she _knows_ him.

And when he says, “ _my first love was never Eve. It was you, Chloe. It always has been_ ,” that’s enough.

He kisses her. She feels nothing and everything all at once.

His touch is achingly gentle as he cradles her face, the metal of his ring cool against her flushed cheek. She can taste rich whiskey and smoke and tears—his or hers, she’s not sure—and she tries once more, a desperate sob of _“please don’t go”_ against his lips. Her only reply is the ghost of his touch on her cheek, a gentle breeze and the flap of snow-white wings as he flies out of her life as quickly as he’d entered it.

Then she’s cold and alone, tiny shards of pain stabbing at her heart like glass. It feels like she’s dragging them in with every breath.

She thinks she has loved before—she was married, after-all—but even the divorce hadn’t felt quite like this.

She has said the words to men before, but she’s not sure she ever really _meant_ them until now.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
“I meant every word I said. I love you, Lucifer,” she says the next time, knowing it’s not Lucifer at all, “and I still do.”

She stares at the man who wears his face— _Michael_ —and tries to keep her expression even.

His mouth curves at the side.

“I meant it too,” he croons, imitating that accent that fires her blood, “I love you, Chloe.”

She feels the words in her chest, like the bullet from a gun and just as painful.

How long has she waited to hear that, she wonders? Weeks, months, years? Deep down, she thinks she’s loved him from the moment they met. He’d thought her immune to his charms and she’d let him, but it couldn’t be further from the truth.

She not stupid; she knows it’s Michael.

She just wishes he’d hurt her in a different way. She wishes he’d kidnapped her or lied to her or even tortured her—because saying _I love you,_ hearing those words from _that_ mouth in _that_ accent… it’s all too easy to pretend it’s real.

“I’ve waited such a long time for this,” she whispers. The situation is a lie, but the words are the truth.

Michael smirks, letting her lead him as she walks him backwards. His hands are firm on her waist as he sits and cradles her between his thighs. He walks and talks and dresses like Lucifer, and he must be wearing his cologne, because he smells like him too.

Her chest feels too tight as Michael’s mouth traces her jaw and she breathes Lucifer in, all smoke and heat and expensive whiskey.

She falters for a beat too long, allows herself to indulge for just a moment, before she pushes herself away from him.

The rest is a blur, lost in a flurry of lies and revelations and a gun shot. Michael’s palm is clean when he brings it away from his thigh, not a speck of blood in sight, and Chloe’s mind aches with a memory.

She knows it wasn’t Lucifer.

She knows it wasn’t real.

But that night, wrapped up in her sheets and gently clasping the bullet around her neck, she pretends it was.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
It just slips out, that third time.

She’s been trying so hard not to say it. She’s been trying to push it down and ignore it because he hasn’t said it back yet and frankly, she’s a little humiliated and a little resentful and _why hasn’t he said it back?_

So she holds it in with a stubbornness that borders on ridiculous.

She thinks he was close to saying it that day in the precinct, right before his Dad showed up. He’d looked sad and conflicted and the words were lodging in his throat, just like they had the first time she’d tried to say them. He’d called her _Chloe,_ so that had to mean something, but they’d been interrupted and she supposes only in her ridiculous, _insane_ world would God himself be to blame.

But that was months ago now and they’ve finally settled into some semblance of normality. He’s had ample opportunity to say it, floating on a kiss, or panted in the throes of passion, or whispered into her skin in a tender moment on the balcony.

She’d take it in the middle of a crime scene, for god’s sake, surrounded by blood and gore and bodily fluids—if only he’d just bloody _say it._

But he doesn’t.

So she doesn’t.

Until—

“You’re ridiculous,” she’s laughing, rolling her eyes to the sky.

Lucifer huffs, adjusting his expensive cufflinks.

“I most certainly am _not_.”

Chloe crosses her arms over her chest as she leans against the brick wall of the seedy strip club. Their undercover missions have become more interesting since they became an item, an extra layer of jealousy brimming under the surface. She’s currently scantily dressed in thigh high boots and a barely-there skirt, and his anger had boiled over when a suspect’s hand had crept under it.

“You are.”

He scoffs in annoyance, turning to look at her. She merely quirks a brow and tips her head to the side, waiting for him to see sense.

He blinks.

“What, you’re _surprised_ that the Devil has a short fuse?” he asks in disbelief, his jaw set. She watches a muscle near his ear tick as he clenches it.

“I’m _surprised_ that you’re so insecure,” she corrects, that brow still arched, “we were undercover. It was just a ruse, you know that. You normally love roleplay.”

He rolls his shoulders, his jaw sliding to the side.

“Well yes, I was very much planning on having those wrapped around my head when we got home,” his dark eyes flicker to her thigh high boots, “but idiots who can’t keep their hands to themselves try my patience.”

Chloe smirks, her breath casting billowy clouds in the cool night air. They had found their murderer, watched the flickering red and blue lights lead him away, but it wasn’t the handcuffs that had the man snivelling and rubbing his sore, twisted wrist.

“You’re jealous.”

Lucifer scoffs again, arching a brow of his own.

“ _Me,_ jealous?” he deadpans, “the _Lord of Hell?_ ”

Chloe merely nods.

“The _tempter_ ,” he starts to reel off his names, the air around him practically thrumming and crackling with power, “the Prince of Darkness… the evil one.”

“The _annoying_ one,” Chloe drawls sarcastically.

His mouth twitches.

“Old Scratch.”

Her nose scrunches in distaste.

“Quite right, Detective,” he chuckles, “I’m not a fan of that one either. How about the Father of Lies?”

“You don’t lie.”

He smirks again.

“The _King._ ”

That one traces a shudder down her spine—and he knows it. He reads her like a book, his brow arching again in quiet interest. He slips into seduction mode and she kicks herself for letting her desire show. Lucifer smells weakness like blood in the water.

“Oh, you like that?” he husks, his accent low and dark.

She rolls her bottom lip between her teeth and slowly shakes her head.

“I think you do, my darling.”

He steps forward until he’s caging her in, one hand resting on the brick beside her. He leans in, the grit of his stubble sliding over her neck.

“Admit you’re jealous,” she whispers, her body blazing to life under his touch, and her voice is teasing and playful when she adds, “my _Ki_ _ng._ ”

“I am, you know.”

“You are what?” she asks smugly, pushing him to say it.

“Yours.”

She falters, her throat suddenly very dry.

“ _All yours,_ ” he croons suggestively, the backs of his fingers trailing an electric path down her side, “these hands… this mouth… this body, quite literally sculpted by the divine… this big, hard co—”

“—I love you,” it bubbles from her lips in a laugh, bursting out before she can stop it.

He stills, pulling back slightly to look at her.

_Damn it._

She sighs, a flicker of weakness passing over her face but she can’t take it back now because it’s true and she _does._

He pulls her into him, one hand on her waist and the fingers of the other wrapping around her hair. He places a gentle kiss on her forehead.

“Ditto, darling.”

He murmurs—and it’s not _exactly_ what she wants… but it’s something.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
He’s cradled between her thighs, the next time she whispers it.

“I love you,” she breathes as she comes down from her peak, pleasure covering her skin like a warm blanket.

He lifts his head from her neck, his lips red and swollen from her kisses, his pupils blown to black. He looks wild. She loves it when he lets go for her, the thick growls that roll from his chest, the flash of white when he hisses through his teeth as she pulls his hair. He’s always so cool and collected, holding himself with a devil-may-care attitude that borders on arrogant, on the dangerous. She loves seeing him rough and uninhibited, loves seeing him lose control for her. She loves him.

He’s resting on his forearms, his thumb tenderly swiping across her temple. She traces her fingers down his sweat-slicked back, feels the taut muscles of his shoulder blades, his barely restrained strength. She remembers the bumps and ridges of his scars; his beauty and his power and everything he had hated about himself.

Maybe it’s the orgasm still buzzing through her blood, making her feel limbless, but she loves him so much, the feeling bursts like sunlight behind her ribs.

“I know, my love,” he murmurs, leaning down to press his lips to hers.

She kisses him back, blossoming under his touch. It’s a messy kiss, all tongues, teeth, heat and passion. His hands drift over her body, his fingers playing her like his piano, drawing sweet music from her. When he slides inside her again, she curls his expensive sheets into fists of silk and cradles his groan in the hollow of her throat.

He says _ditto_ and _I do, of course I do,_ and he calls her _my love,_ but he hasn’t said the words. Not explicitly. He shows it in different ways. He shows it in the way he looks at her when he’s teasing her, all doting and adoring. He shows it in how kind and patient he is with Trixie, even though he despises children, and the _almost_ respect he occasionally gives Dan now because he’s her father. He shows it in his kiss and his touch and the way he steps back and _listens_ when she tells him he’s being too much or to take a crime scene seriously or to remember to put the lid on the toothpaste.

He’s showing it now, as he reads her body better than she does—but deep down, she still wishes he’d just _say it.  
  
  
_

* * *

  
  
There are no ulterior motives or slips of the tongue the next time she says it.

She knows _exactly_ what she’s saying, her eyes and throat burning, and Trixie is the key.

They haven’t noticed her yet, as she leans against the wall and listens to them. Her arms are crossed over her chest as she watches her daughter and the man she loves deep in conversation on the couch.

“Is Maze a police offer too?” Trixie is asking, her brows drawn together in confusion.

Lucifer chuckles and his back is to her, but Chloe can just _see_ his brow arching in amusement.

“What makes you say that?”

“I found these in her room.”

Trixie removes her hands from behind her back and reveals a pair of what look to be very worn and _well used_ handcuffs.

Chloe’s eyes widen as Lucifer lets out a loud, delighted laugh. 

“Why are you _laughing_?” Trixie huffs, her mouth fixing into an adorable pout, “I don’t _understand_ you, Lucifer.”

“No, of course you don’t,” he drawls, tapping her on the nose, “you couldn’t possibly until you’ve walked a mile in my Italian loafers.”

“What’s a loafer?”

“Never-mind, child.”

He sits back on the couch, but Trixie won’t let it go. She rises on her knees and crawls towards him. Chloe rolls her eyes at the way he grimaces and instinctively flinches away from her. 

“If Maze isn’t a police offer like Mommy, why does she have these?”

Lucifer shifts, his hand coming up to stroke his chin. Chloe narrows her eyes. She knows that look. He can’t lie… but surely he’s not about to tell her prepubescent daughter the _truth_ about his sex-crazed best friend? She’s about to interject when he sighs.

“They're like her knives,” he says slowly, carefully, as though he’s trying to reign himself in, “she uses them to catch bad guys.”

“Mommy catches bad guys,” Trixie says proudly.

“Well, I help,” Lucifer mutters primly, holding his hand out to take the cuffs. Trixie shrugs, having already lost interest, and places them in his palm.

He turns them over and then gives them a little tug. The metal rattles. Chloe imagines he’s not applying much strength to it, but still, he seems impressed by their fortitude. 

“Very good, Mazikeen,” he murmurs with a proud smirk.

Chloe rolls her eyes, making a mental note to prepare herself for when he inevitably brings them, or a similar pair, to their bed.

She listens to them chat idly for a few more minutes before Trixie narrows her eyes suspiciously.

“You’re being much nicer to me than usual,” she says.

Chloe touches her fingers to her mouth, a melancholy sensation settling over her. She’s always wondered why Trixie likes Lucifer so much, why she’s always been so attached to him. Even the haphazard scribble on her door still says _no boys allowed except Daddy and Lucifer._ Chloe supposes he _is_ an impossible man to ignore. He commands attention and his magnetic nature clearly doesn't discriminate when it comes to the ages of those around him.

Still, she’s impressed by her daughter’s emotional intelligence, how she can notice a change in his behaviour.

Lucifer folds his hands in his lap.

“Yes, well… while it’s true that I find your kind _insufferably_ boring,” he starts, “I have recently come to a realisation.”

Trixie and Chloe both roll their eyes at his use of “your kind” instead of “children” and then Trixie’s asking, “what realisation?” and tripping over the word.

“That you and the Detective are a package deal.”

Chloe smiles, her lips curving under her fingers.

“A what?”

“You, my little urchin, are the most important thing in the world to your Mum,” he says, that honey smooth accent oddly gentle, “which means you are now the most important thing in the world to me.”

Chloe’s chest feels too tight, her throat dry.

Trixie’s face lights up with a smile.

“So you’re always going to be nice to me now?” she asks happily, “can I hug you?”

He winces, his smile a little tight.

“If you must,” he says, his tone clipped, “and yes, I shall be nice to you, as long as you promise not to sneak in again when you hear those strange noises coming from Mum’s room. Deal?”

Chloe grimaces, remembering when that had happened. It had taken them a moment to notice her, lingering by the door, her face confused as she asked _“are you okay, Mommy? You sounded hurt”._ Chloe had gasped, clutching the covers to her chest, as Lucifer chuckled.

Trixie seems to give it some thought before she nods determinedly and holds her hand out.

“Deal.”

Lucifer smirks, shaking her hand.

“Can I call you Daddy?”

Chloe’s eyes widen as Lucifer hums, seemingly considering it for a moment.

“Oh, that’s perfect,” he says eventually, his voice delighted, “that’s bound to piss Detective Dou— _Dan_ off. Yes, absolutely.”

“Two Daddies! Awesome.”

Trixie smiles again, looking very pleased with herself, before she crawls into Lucifer’s lap. His back arches slightly, cringing away from her but she holds on tight and won’t let him pull away. Eventually, he relaxes, releasing a defeatist sigh before he hugs her back. He gives her two awkward pats on the back. 

Chloe smiles, deciding it’s time to break the moment.

She clears her throat.

Lucifer turns, arching a brow.

“Oh hello, Detective,” he murmurs, “I was just cutting a deal with your offspring.”

“I can see that.”

She moves over to them and holds her hand out to Trixie.

“Come on, baby,” she whispers, “time for bed.”

Trixie nods, taking her hand and slipping out of Lucifer’s lap.

“Go on,” Chloe continues as when she pauses, “go get ready, I’ll tuck you in in a bit.”

She kisses her on the forehead and lets her go and then it’s just her and Lucifer.

He stands, unfurling his six foot body, and gives a little tug on his navy waistcoat. 

She kisses him.

She swallows his little grunt of surprise, his hands finding her waist. He gets over it quickly, his mouth growing pliant under hers. When she pulls back, his smile is lazy and calm and _happy._

“What was that for?”

"I heard what you said,” she murmurs before her mouth twitches into a smirk, “you love Trixie.”

Lucifer scoffs, quirking a brow.

“I suppose the little parasite isn’t _totally_ without merit.”

She smiles, her hand cupping his cheek. He leans into her touch, placing a kiss on her palm, before she trails her hands down his chest.

“Very generous of you.”

His smile turns teasing then, dark and seductive. He curls one strong arm around her waist and tugs her in close.

“You can call me Daddy too, if you like,” he purrs.

She rolls her eyes, too touched and moved for his flirtations.

“Trixie is… _everything_ to me,” she starts quietly, “it means a lot that you’re trying.”

“Of course,” he says, like it’s all very simple, “I know it’s taken us a while to get here, but this is where I want to be. I don’t want to mess things up anymore. I want to be with you _and_ the child.”

Chloe smiles, her vision a little blurred, and she has no choice but to say it.

“I love you, Lucifer,” she whispers heavily, “I am so in love with you. I shouldn’t have been with Pierce. You shouldn’t have been with Eve.”

He shakes his head, his expression gentle.

“It doesn’t matter. It was always you,” he says with a little shrug, “right from the beginning.”

She’s suddenly struck by the notion that he isn’t just being romantic; it really _was_ from the beginning. He’s spent eons waiting for her. She’s often so caught up in the idea that she was made for him, a gift from God, it’s easy to forget that he was made for her too.

“You are the only woman I have ever loved,” he adds quietly, “and the only woman I _will_ ever love.”

She releases a shaky breath, briefly closing her burning eyes. She keeps them closed as he gently cradles her face and kisses her once more.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
It’s not exactly the most romantic of settings, the day he says it for the first time.

There’s no soft music or rose petals or flickering candles. Instead, she’s framed in harsh, fluorescent hospital lights, her head pounding and a stabbing pain travelling the length of her right arm.

She hears him before she sees him, barking his orders, demanding to see her.

She tries a weak smile as he strides in, all commanding and concerned, sitting down by her bed. He grabs her hand and squeezes tight.

“Ouch,” she half whispers, half laughs, “celestial strength, remember?”

Lucifer blinks in confusion before his eyes flicker down to their hands with a little “ _oh_ ”. He loosens his grip, his thumb gently stroking across the back of her hand.

“Lucifer, I’m _fine_ ,” she says before he can ask, “it’s not the first time I’ve been shot and it probably won’t be the last.”

He doesn’t laugh, instead bringing her hand to his mouth and placing a kiss on the backs of her fingers.

“I thought I’d really lost you this time,” he says, his brows drawing into a frown.

“You didn’t.”

“But I could have,” he says, “and I wouldn't have had the chance to tell you…”

Chloe stills, her heart starting to flutter slightly faster in her chest.

“Tell me what?”

Lucifer breathes, his chest gently rising and falling under expensive Armani.

He swallows once, his throat moving, and then he says—

“I love you.”

Chloe’s mouth runs dry, her eyes and throat burning.

“I should have said it before,” he adds quietly.

She shakes her head, squeezing his hand.

“You _do_ say it.”

She knows him, inside and out. He thinks she’s too serious and brooding. She thinks he’s wild and reckless. In many ways, they’re polar opposites and they show their love very differently.

That was the thing with Lucifer.

He could be so charming, so elusive and enigmatic, it was easy to believe he didn’t care. That wasn’t the case at all, of course; he just didn’t know how to show something he’d never felt before. He was fiercely passionate and loyal, and he _did_ love—wildly and intensely. 

“I thought you wanted me to say it," he asks.

Chloe considers that for a moment.

“I suppose I did,” she concedes, “because I was holding us to the same standard as everyone else… but we’re not like everyone else.”

His mouth tips at the side.

“No, we most certainly are not.”

He leans forward in his chair, gently tucking a strand of honey blonde hair behind her ear. He dips down and presses his lips to hers, just once, a simple and soft kiss.

“If you _did_ want to say it again though…” she whispers against his mouth when he pulls back, “I suppose that would be okay.”

A seductive little hum rumbles against her before his face lights up in a smile. It's blinding and _real_ and she swears he’s never looked at her that way before.

“I love you, Chloe,” he says sincerely.

“Ditto, darling,” she replies.

**Author's Note:**

> title from Jasmine Thompson's beautiful, beautiful cover of 'this year's love'. Don't want to be dramatic, but I think I died at the part in S5😭 😭 😭


End file.
